Good Fortune in Portland

The night was cold and rainy as I set out for the short journey to the convenience store on the end of the street. I gave my only raincoat to Linda, the woman who worked the register in front of mine at Walmart. Her husband took their only car when he left her and their three-year-old daughter for a twenty-four-year-old he met at a bar the week before. She had to walk the three miles from her house to her job everyday now, and November was the rainiest month in Portland, so I had no choice but to give her my coat. I held my umbrella in front of me like a shield, as if I were going to battle on the dry lands of Troy. The wind was relentless, and that combined with the rain had already soaked the front of my jeans and sweater. God bless the rainboots my boss gifted me for my nineteenth birthday a couple weeks ago. I was beginning to wonder if a Honeybun was worth it tonight just as I saw the fluorescent glow of Al’s Mini Mart shine faintly through the sheer top of my umbrella.

Sheltered underneath the flickering lights of the awning, I shook off my umbrella and put it in the rusting bin next to the rickety door that was slightly ajar. A mouse skittered behind the ice machine, startled by the noise it made as I tossed it in. As I walked in, a chime jingled daintily above, alerting the cashier of my arrival. I was greeted with a curt nod as the man folded down the newspaper he was reading to glance at me. I was here for one thing and one thing only, and I walked down the aisles with a purpose, passing the beef jerkies, the energy bars, and the bags of chips, looking for the hallmark cypress-green Portland tourist tees that no one ever bought. Ah yes, I thought, sighing contentedly. I knelt down to the lowest level of the shelves and swept aside the hanging shirts, expecting a bountiful supply of the reason why I made this treacherous journey: a glorious, perfectly glazed, soft-like-a-baby’s-bottom Honeybun. But to my dismay, there were none to be found. My shoulders slumped and I let out a tired exhale. My first thought was annoyance that I got my clothes this soaked for no reason. My second thought was to check for them one more time. Al’s Mini Mart hadn’t let me down like this before, so I thought I was the one that must be mistaken. I pulled the shirts back once more, craning my neck to see any stragglers. Much to my agony, my previous assessment had been correct. There were no Honeybuns. But there was something else.

Nestled in the very back of the shelf, amongst the dust bunnies and mysterious crumbs, there was a small rectangle-shaped object that I couldn’t quite make out. It didn’t look like it was supposed to be there, and as I moved my head so my shadow wasn’t covering the shape, I saw green. Green as in the color of money. As in the color of something I really needed. I stretched my arm the farthest it could reach, until I felt a sharp pinch in my armpit that made me pull back, wincing. I scooted as close as I could to the rim of the shelf, the side of my thigh pressing hard against it, and reached again, till my fingers grazed the crisp edge of the object. When I had a grip on it, I pulled it out of the shelf, and although covered in a thick layer of dust, my suspicious thoughts had been confirmed. It was money, and a generous stack of it too, a couple inches thick. The first bill read one hundred, and that was all I needed to see. I quickly slid the stack into the waistline of my jeans before anyone noticed, even though there wasn’t another soul in the shop as far as I could tell, other than the grumpy looking cashier behind the counter. I stood up and dusted my hands off. I surely didn’t want anything else here, but I knew the cashier would think I was shoplifting if I left the place without buying anything. Scanning the small, brightly lit store like a hawk for prey, a flashy red sign that read SALE! caught my eye. I walked over to the small kiosk, my rainboots squeaking on the linoleum floors, and saw that it was filled with little black notebooks. I grabbed the first one I saw and made my way to checkout. I placed the notebook gently down on the counter, afraid I looked suspicious. Was I stealing something? I’d never stolen anything before. My heart was racing for some reason. I told myself the money wasn’t for sale, so technically I wasn’t stealing. I doubted it was the cashier’s money, because if it were, it wouldn’t be in the back of some dusty old shelf. When he saw what I intended to buy, his bushy grey eyebrows rose into his lined forehead. He was used to people at this hour buying cheap beer.

“This all you want?” He asked, sliding his thick-rimmed glasses up over his nose.

“Yes sir,” I said, smiling.

I hoped he couldn’t hear my heart pounding.

He nodded and scanned the barcode on the back of the notebook. What I would use it for, I didn’t know. I could give it to Linda, maybe. Her daughter might like to doodle in it; Linda said she liked to draw.

“That’ll be fourteen dollars and ninety-five cents,” the man sighed, picking back up his newspaper.

I placed a few five-dollar bills and a handful of quarters on the counter, saying “Keep the change.” Without looking back, I exited the store, the sound of the chime my sole farewell.

I was reluctant the next morning at work to tell anyone of my good fortune, but to tell you the truth, part of me was still itching to. When I got dressed that morning in my usual uniform, I slid the stack in the top of my pants again, secured by a pleather belt. I was too afraid for it to leave my side. I felt like it could suddenly combust at any given moment. When I held it in my hands, it felt like it vibrated with this special energy, like there was golden glitter floating around it. That was probably just me projecting my own excitement on it, but I didn’t even know how much money there was in the stack. I was afraid that if I took off the thin rubber band wrapped around it, some alarm would sound, and the FBI would come storming in after me. I wouldn’t do well in jail.

At lunch, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. It was just Linda and I, sitting at the beige plastic table in Storage eating Subway sandwiches in silence. It was a comfortable silence though. I liked Linda, and she liked me, and we enjoyed each other’s company, talking or not. She was someone I trusted. She had me over for Thanksgiving last year when my parents got in a fight so bad, I had to call the police. Afterwards, I called Linda crying, and she said there was nothing some good Thanksgiving turkey and mashed potatoes couldn’t fix.

“Linda,” I said, setting my half-eaten sandwich down. “I have to tell you something.”

“Did they kick you out of the house?” She asked, her eyes immediately filling with worry.

“No, no, no. It’s something good. Really good. But don’t freak out,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“What is it then, darlin’?”

I pulled out the stack and set it on the table in front of her. All Linda did was nod slowly, her face neutral.

“And where did you find that?” She asked, pointing with her fake-eyelash rimmed eyes to the money.

“Al’s Mini Mart last night. I went there for a Honeybun, but there were none. I found that crammed at the back of the shelf instead. A pretty good alternative, I’d say.”

“What in God’s name,” she trailed off, shaking her head. “Well how much is it?”

“No idea. Haven’t counted it yet.” I picked up my sandwich and took a bite.

“You mind?”

I shook my head, and she unwrapped the rubber band and began to count. I watched her but didn’t say a word.

After a few minutes of her counting, placing one bill down carefully over the last, she set the final bill down and stood up slowly, walking to the back window that overlooked the dumpsters.

“Good God,” Linda said, her hands on her hips. She turned back around, and tears filled her eyes. “That is a stack of twenty-thousand dollars.”

A wide smile spread across her face, and in a couple of strides, she was over at my chair, grabbing me by my hands and we were both jumping up and down, praising God and the angels above.

“I can go to college with this money,” I said when we finally sat back down, both of us out of breath and wiping the tears from our eyes.

“You sure can,” she said, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and hugging me tight.

At the end of that summer, before my first semester of college started, I sat in the driver’s seat of my car, all packed and ready to go. I knew that before I left, there was one last stop I had to make, and I knew Linda’s shift didn’t end until noon.

As I entered the sliding glass doors of Walmart, not as an employee, but as a future college student, I have to say that I felt good. Happy even, for the first time in a while. I made my way to Storage, knowing it was Linda’s lunch break, and I took a stack of cash out of my wallet. Linda was sitting at the same table, eating the same sandwich. I sat down in front of her, and she smiled, the laugh lines creasing around her eyes.

“You leave today?” She asked, a tinge of sadness in her kind voice.

“I do, but I wanted to give you something first.” I slid a stack of a thousand dollars over to her, and she clamped her hand over her mouth.

“I can’t accept this,” she said in a whisper, tears filling her eyes.

“For a car,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “No more walking to work for you, okay?”

She stood up and walked around the table and wrapped me in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she said into my hair. “Thank you so much.”

Back in my car, I smiled to myself. The day was gloomy, with plush grey clouds streaking the sky, but a few good things were happening for me; that I was sure of. I was off to school, out of this city, and Linda would get a car. Things were looking up, for once. I looked at my bookbag sitting in my passenger seat. I checked it one last time to make sure I wasn’t missing any school supplies. The little black notebook was there, nestled carefully in front of the binders and paper. I’m sure I’d find some use for it during my studies. I opened it, flipping through the blank, clean pages. It’s like my future, I thought to myself. And I was the writer of my own story. Smiling, I put the notebook back in the bookbag, revved the engine, and made my way out of town.